


rain and a spaghetti western

by nightbloomings



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Choking, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbloomings/pseuds/nightbloomings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in their motel room by a storm, Trevor comes up with a good way for he and Michael to kill some time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rain and a spaghetti western

Everybody always talked about winter in North Yankton being the worst time of year. And yeah, it was shitty—cold as a snowman’s balls, wind and blizzards gripping the state for a solid four, five months—but as far as Michael was concerned, it didn’t even come close to spring. Spring was nothing but grey slush and grey skies and enough rain to leave the place waterlogged until at least May, and it was still only March.

He and Trevor weren’t due to roll on their next job until the next night, so there was time to kill. But with the way it was raining outside? Like fuck Michael was going anywhere except to sleep on his cheap motel bed. It wasn’t so bad inside the room—two beds, a working TV, a decent selection of movies. Trevor had been pushing for a switch to one of the jerk-off channels all afternoon, but Michael was content with the Spaghetti Western he had on.

He was comfortable, leaning back against the headboard with an arm pillowed behind his head. Trevor, on the other hand, was fidgeting around on his bed like a damn child. It wasn’t an unfair assessment, Michael thought—you really had to keep the guy entertained or else he’d start acting out. Michael wasn’t his keeper, though; if Trevor was going stir crazy so bad, he was more than welcome to venture out into the shitty weather.

Just as the movie was gearing up towards the inevitable big gun battle, Michael heard Trevor heave a big sigh. He looked to his left and saw Trevor sprawled out on his bed, looking out the window and idly rubbing his palm over his crotch.

“Jesus Christ, Trev—give it a rest.”

Trevor looked back over at Michael for a moment, a smirk spread across his mouth. “We all gotta pass the time somehow, bud, and you won’t let me watch the dicks-n-tits channel. What the fuck else am I supposed to do?”

Michael rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the TV. The hero was slung up against the bar of some saloon, his hips cocked and his cowboy hat tipped forward. There was a chick next to him, dressed up in frilly underwear and a tight corset. Her tits were massive; Michael appreciated the director’s attention to detail. The girl on screen was smiling at the cowboy and he winked at her before opening his mouth, but his line was obscured by the sound of Trevor shifting around on the cheap sheets on his bed.

Michael stared harder at the TV, his mouth setting into a tight line; if he concentrated enough, maybe he’d be able to ignore what Trevor was getting up to. But he could hear Trevor’s breathing grow shallow, and his mind started to drift, picturing what Trevor might be doing to himself a few feet over. It wasn’t hard to imagine—he’d seen it, been a part of it, enough times over the last couple years to come up with a pretty good idea. Michael swallowed thickly, trying to clear his throat as nonchalant as possible when he noticed Trevor’s legs kicking from the corner of his eye, working his jeans off.

What was going on in the movie...? The hot chick was dead, somehow, piled up in a bloody heap on the floor of the saloon, and the cowboy was—Trevor huffed, punctuated with a short, pointed growl. Michael was about to tell Trevor to fuck off again, when he heard another rustle of bed sheets, and the soft creak of Trevor’s mattress. Michael turned his head, keeping his eyes on the TV screen for a vain second or two more, before looking to his left.

Trevor was standing by the table between their beds, and the first thing Michael saw was his muscular, hairy thighs. His eyes travelled upwards and fell on Trevor’s cock, jutting out, the tip slick and red.

Michael’s mouth watered instantly and he swallowed again, cursing himself. _Like_ _Pavlov’s fucking dog_ , he thought—yeah, Trevor had him trained real well, apparently.

Trevor took a few steps forward, sauntering towards Michael with a palm cupping his balls. Their eyes met and held, and Michael rearranged himself, pulling himself higher up against the headboard. Trevor smirked again and closed the distance between himself and Michael’s bed, leaning his thighs against the edge of the mattress. He started stroking himself with indulgent, deliberate movements. The head of his cock was leaking slowly, and he passed the edge of his thumb over it, catching the precum and bringing it down the length. Michael bit back the needy whine that was brewing in his throat and swallowed so hard that he was positive he’d made an audible gulp. The thing was, though, he knew Trevor could read him like a fucking storybook, and he wondered briefly why he even bothered trying to hide how into this he was.

Trevor tilted his head back and interrupted Michael’s train of thought with a deep, drawn out groan, and Michael’s attention was drawn again to the sight of Trevor’s hand on himself: long, tanned fingers wrapped around the flushed flesh of his cock, the muscles and tendons in his forearm working, visible just below the skin. Michael saw Trevor look down and meet his eye, as if checking to make sure he was watching—of course he was watching; he was fucking riveted and Trevor knew it, the egomaniac.

Michael’s mouth had gone dry, his throat tight and breathing shallow, and as he watched Trevor, he realised his dick was achingly hard.

He almost reached for it, when Trevor let out a cocky laugh and brought Michael’s attention back to him.

“You want this?” he asked with a tug of his dick. His voice was dark and rumbling, tinged with something almost-menacing.

Michael opened his mouth to say something, nearly falling back on a retort out of impulse, but what was the point now in trying to save face? He closed his mouth, sucking in his bottom lip a little, and leaned against his pillow.

Trevor let go of himself long enough to get up onto Michael’s bed, swinging one leg over Michael and straddling his thighs. He lifted up onto his knees and leaned back a bit, his bony hips jutting out. He began pumping himself and he looked down, watching as Michael swallowed hard again. Trevor’s strokes were quick, a little harsh, and a slight shiver of anticipation passed through Michael, knowing that that was how Trevor really liked it.

Michael kept his focus locked on Trevor’s strokes and the tiny shifts in the muscles between his hips, and his hand drifted to his dick. He cupped it over his sweats, squeezing and rubbing with his palm. Trevor saw him work his bulge and pursed his lips, swatting Michael’s hand away. Then he shuffled forward on his knees, moving to straddle the bottom of Michael’s stomach. Michael shifted his hips, writhing around under his weight—he couldn’t reach his dick around Trevor’s breadth and he was desperate for some kind of contact. He tried to lift his hips and rub himself against Trevor but it was futile. Instead, he settled for putting his hands on Trevor’s thighs. His fingertips carded through Trevor’s leg hair, and then he turned them inwards, blunted nails digging into Trevor’s skin.

Trevor acted as if spurred on by the sudden dull sharpness of his fingers, and he bucked up into his hand, his thighs tightening around Michael’s sides. Michael’s breath hitched as he found it harder to inhale against Trevor’s weight and the tightness of his legs’ grip around his middle. In the next moment, Trevor shifted, moving further up Michael’s body until his weight was centred on Michael’s chest.

“Hands off,” Trevor said, his voice pointed and strained. “Don’t make me do something _drastic_ , like tie you up.” Michael answered with a weak nod.

Trevor gave a small smirk and leaned his hips forward, until the tip of his cock brushed the side of Michael’s mouth, and the whine escaped Michael’s lips before he could stop it. Michael huffed, trying to cover up the desperate sound and turned his head, his tongue darting out to wrap sideways around Trevor’s shaft.

“Always the same with you, Mikey,” Trevor chuckled darkly and shook his head. “Put a cock in your face and you act like it might be the last one you ever get close to.”

Michael glared up at Trevor from the corner of his eye, face still turned towards the heady dampness of Trevor’s groin. Before he had time to answer, Trevor took Michael by the chin and made him face forward. His grip was insistent, his fingertips tight along Michael’s jaw. Trevor held his dick in his free hand and guided it towards Michael’s mouth, slowly tracing the shape of his lips and leaving them slick.

Trevor slowly squeezed his fingers together, pinching Michael's cheeks until his lips parted. Michael's gut flipped and his dick throbbed with need. Trevor leaned forward again and put the head of his cock to Michael's lower lip, and Michael instinctively wrapped his lips over his teeth, eager for what he knew would be coming next.

"Yeah," Trevor rasped, "someone's trained you real good." Michael wondered vaguely whether the whole Pavlovian thing had occurred to him too, if he’d even get the reference. Maybe it was just Trevor being Trevor.

Trevor moved his hand from Michael's chin up to his head, gripping into his short-cropped hair and holding Michael's head in place before slowly guiding himself past Michael's lips into his mouth. Michael let out a muffled moan around Trevor's cock as he took nearly the full length of it. Trevor grunted harshly and pulled out, and Michael took the chance to drag the breadth of his tongue flat up the underside of his dick.

Trevor shuddered, rolling the motion through his shoulders, and Michael could tell he was on the cusp of unravelling. He knew exactly what this was about: one-upmanship. Michael was the bossy one, most of the time, as much as Trevor might rail against it. But this kind of shit? This was Trevor's domain, and Michael was ready to let him have it, especially when it landed him in a position like this.

Trevor knew it too, judging by the way he was staring down at Michael, his eyes dark. He leaned forward and hilted himself again in Michael's mouth, rolling his hips slightly. Michael gasped, gagging a little as the tip of Trevor's dick connected with the back of his throat, and Trevor suddenly had this look on his face like a damn light bulb had gone off above his head.

Trevor moved a hand to the bottom of Michael's throat, his long fingers curling around the thick, muscular column of Michael's neck. Michael felt a fleeting tinge of delicious panic but he wasn't going to protest. Trevor slid his hand up until the back of it bumped the bottom of Michael's jaw, and then their eyes met. Michael stared hard at Trevor, practically goaded him on, until Trevor followed through as Michael hoped he would, pushing down with his hand. He only applied a little pressure at first, as if gauging Michael's reaction, but when Michael made a strangled noise, something between a groan and a grunt, Trevor tightened his grip, turning his fingertips inwards a bit.

Michael thought for a second about how circumstantial it was, between Trevor getting his rocks off this way and choking a guy out. It was hot, edging against the cusp of the distinction. Everything that Michael was feeling suddenly became enhanced, as the corners of his vision began to blur darkly. He struggled to inhale, his breath coming sharp through his nose, and he felt hot tears prick behind his eyes.

Trevor's hips were moving at an even pace, thrusting his cock shallowly into Michael’s mouth, and then he smirked, his lip curling up. He tightened his grip around Michael’s neck a little more, and Michael sputtered, struggling to swallow against Trevor's hand, around Trevor's cock.

"Yeah, Mikey," Trevor ground out. "Show me out badly you want it."

Michael blinked a few times, clearing the tears from his eyes. He couldn't speak, could barely move, so he gave a deep, appreciative hum at the back of his throat.

Trevor shouted, sudden and sharp, and pulled his cock from Michael’s mouth, loosening his grip around his throat. He gave himself a few quick pumps before coming hard, white hot at the hollow of Michael’s neck. He rested a palm on the mattress above Michael’s shoulder and bowed his head, letting out a deep breath. The warmth passed over Michael’s heated skin and the cooling cum, and Michael let himself breathe as well. His throat felt hoarse and tight, and suddenly he was acutely aware of his own hard dick. He’d been too distracted by Trevor’s hand around his neck to think about coming, but now, it was the only thing he was able to focus on.

Trevor straightened up, laying his palms flat on his thighs, and Michael shifted his hips up, rubbing the ridge of his dick against Trevor’s ass in a hardly-subtle reminder.

“Ahh, of course,” Trevor murmured, cocking his head and looking at Michael through half-lidded eyes. He swung a leg over Michael and knelt next to him, skimming a hand down his chest and stomach, palm catching on the fabric of his well-worn sweatshirt.

Trevor began working the button and fly of Michael’s jeans, pushing the waistband down just enough to free his dick. Trevor wrapped his fingers around Michael’s shaft, forming a ring with just his forefinger and thumb and stroking tightly downwards. Michael gasped and it turned into a ragged moan as he savoured the amount of pressure Trevor was giving him, but he found himself wanting more. He wanted to fill Trevor’s palm, to have his whole length consumed.

And Trevor did just that, gripping Michael fully and pumping him slow. “Oh, fuck,” Michael muttered, tilting his head back against the pillow as his fists gripped into the sheets. He heard Trevor hum above him, and then he felt Trevor’s free hand come to his neck again, fingers taking up the same place they’d held earlier. Michael opened his eyes and looked sidelong at Trevor, only to screw them shut again with a groan when Trevor’s hand tightened at his neck in time with a sharp stroke of his cock.

Trevor’s arms were stretched the length of Michael’s torso, his mouth hovering near the centre of Michael’s chest, letting out sharp, hot breaths over his skin. Michael was so hard, and Trevor was working him so completely that he wasn’t surprised when he came as quickly as he did. Trevor kept his hold at Michael’s neck, but he slowed the pace on his cock to slow, almost gentle strokes, helping Michael ride out his orgasm. Michael bit out a strangled sigh, swallowing painfully behind Trevor’s hand, and his body went slack. Trevor met Michael’s eyes with a satisfied look before pulling his hands away.

Just as quickly as he’d come up to Michael’s bed, Trevor was back on his own, punching out the lumps in his pillows. Michael lifted himself up on to an elbow, rubbing his free palm over his neck. He felt spent and exhausted, and he was suddenly thankful for the amount of time there was until they had head out again. He awkwardly kicked off his jeans, and then leaned over to the bedside table, grabbing a few tissues to clean himself off with.

A minute later, he glanced over at Trevor, lying on his stomach with his arms folded under his pillow. “You sufficiently entertained now?” Michael asked dryly, tossing the tissues towards the garbage can near the TV.

“Yeah, buddy. Nap time,” Trevor mumbled, turning his head to face away from Michael.

Michael shook his head and sighed, head falling back against his pillow as the credits began to roll on the movie.


End file.
